


This Isn't a Duel

by Zinfandel



Series: Waiting For You [12]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: BlackIce Week, Blackice Smut Challenge, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Foreplay, Gore, Love Bites, M/M, Torture, Vanilla, Vanilla Kink, sensual, why isn't there a hickey tag?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinfandel/pseuds/Zinfandel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the blackice week smut challenge. So far, they are separate vignettes, i'll mention in the chapter summaries if i do continuations. :)</p><p>Day 20: Sadomasochism<br/>Pitch goes too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sensual Foreplay

**Author's Note:**

> soooo this would be occuring pretty far down their timeline as i haven't even fathomed which fight number is their first time hahaha. we'll just treat it as a bunch of years in their future. 
> 
> any other challenge days i can manage for this pair will be part of this story, though the chapters will most likely be stand alone situations.
> 
> Also i'm terrible at naming things and i apologize. gimme better names guys, i lose this game.

“I - what are you doing?”

“Touching you.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because it’s what you do. It’s novel. You’re mine,” Jack mutters, his voice already low with want. He watches Pitch shift underneath him, uncomfortable, and smiles. Its a new concept, for both of them really, and Jack is hungry for the foreign feeling.

He watches Pitch’s furrowed brows and confusion and laughs through his nose.

“Yours?” he asks, almost incredulous, but Jack’s fingers pressing into his clavicle divests him of real resistance. Its amazing all of the ways he has discovered to defeat the boogeyman who once seemed invincible.

“Definitely,” Jack says as he shrugs Pitch’s cloak from a shoulder.

“Definitely not,” Pitch protests and makes to sit up.

Jack lets him, and soon finds himself in Pitch’s lap, his arms draped over his shoulders and before the man can shove him off, Jack captures the lips well within easy range now and threads his fingers into Pitch’s hair to hold him there.

Pitch sputters and makes a sound of surprised dissent, but Jack is insistent and uses his teeth and tongue to open Pitch’s mouth. The resistance is token by now, Pitch has some weird appearance he needs to hold and pride has always been his downfall.

They haven’t made a habit of this sort of encounter. Not yet, Jack hopes they will. Pitch started it, and the few times their fights devolved into making out have lead to this. No fight beforehand, no pretenses of dubious consent. No confusion over intentions, it was quite clear what both of them wanted, and there was no one to stop them from taking it.

Jack hums as the heat of Pitch’s mouth opens to him. He doubts he would ever tire of burning himself in this manner. Pitch isn’t so hot today. Well, Jack isn’t so cold from exertion and Pitch isn’t so sweaty, they are starting on a more level ground. He likes it.

Hands find their way to the back of his neck and quite quickly, their positions reverse as Jack finds himself on his back, Pitch between his legs. He breaks the kiss that was only just getting indecent and loosens his grip on Pitch’s head to let him sit up.

Pitch drags his hands from Jack’s neck, across the small amount of skin exposed from his hoodie down his stomach to the exposed skin between his garments.

“I think you belong to me actually.” He says, his eyes intensely focused as he pushes the black fabric of the hoodie he gifted to Jack up his torso.  

“Do you.” Jack is almost laughing again, the light touching across his belly button ticklish.

“I do.”

“We could fight over it,” Jack quips as Pitch brings his other hand up to the zipper thats been pushed under his chin.

“We could. But i’d rather do this instead,” Pitch mumbles as he unzips Jack’s hoodie and unfastens the harness across his chest.  

Jack’s exposed skin feels warm in the cavern air with no barriers to keep his cool in and he shivers as Pitch’s even warmer hand presses up against his neck, fingers finding his pulse. His other rests on Jack’s chest and he inhales deeply watching Pitch’s face scrunch slightly in concentration.

“This is...novel,” he whispers, his hand sliding over to Jack’s heart, and Jack’s breath stutters.

“Pitch-” Jack nearly wheezes and quickly grips one of Pitch’s wrists to do the same, and his heart suddenly is pounding under that palm and Pitch’s smile cracks open exposing jagged teeth.

“Does this scare you?”

Acknowledgement by Pitch makes it true and Jack shudders in his vulnerability. It is scary being at the mercy of his enemy like this. Former enemy. Friend.

“Your fear is delicious, Jack,” Pitch mumbles, as his hand on Jack’s neck shifts from searching fingertips to a gripping palm as force is applied.

Jack quickly digs his nails into Pitch’s wrist and he shocks his hand back with the pain. “This isn’t a fight, remember?”

“I remember,” Pitch replies quietly, and cups Jack’s face with his palm, his fingertips rubbing over his ear and through his hairline. The gesture has Jack closing his eyes, a sigh gusting from his lips taking his tension with it.

A trust has formed between them. There is faith in their strength and knowledge of one another. Jack takes solace in this. He knows Pitch does as well. He knows Pitch grasps for the balance Jack can give him, the stalwart anchor knowing that Jack can handle him, can defeat and subdue him.

Jack dwells in this importance. In his necessity. He can find his reality in Pitch, in the purpose it gives him, in the tactile reaffirmations of his existence.

The light massage on his temple has Jack drifting until Pitch’s other hand slides a trail of heat down his abdomen and to his pants. Pitch moans audibly while trailing his fingers over Jack’s belt and to the taught leather below.

“You’re hard.”

“I know.”

Pitch presses down and rubs over him firmly, Jack responding with a deep inhale. He turns his head in to Pitch’s palm at his cheek and kisses the calloused skin there. He licks at the palm and Pitch trails his hand down so Jack’s tongue moves between his fingers before opening his mouth and letting Pitch slide them inside.

“And you’re warmer,” Pitch states, practically reduced to simple statements already from the sheer indulgence of being able to do this to Jack. To unwind him so easily.

“Because of you,” Jack says and cracks an eye open to watch his words hit his partner, to watch as Pitch closes his eyes in turn and moans as Jack hits home with what they both so desperately crave.

He sucks on Pitch’s fingers, feeling them cool as they warm his mouth till their temperatures equate. He licks at them and Pitch pulls them back to smear across his lips, tugging the soft flesh to the side then letting it pull back into place. He trails his wet fingers down Jack’s jaw and neck, and they dry in the warm air of his lair. His other hand that stilled on Jack’s crotch forgotten in the onslaught of other stimulus presses down and Jack makes a sound of want.

Pitch presses harder and grabs at Jack through his pants, digging his fingers in around his cock as best as he can through the tight leather. Jack can’t help but shift his hips in need, squeezing his legs in and hugging Pitch with his knees to loosen the tension in the fabric.

“Pitch.” And Jack is a dishevelled mess. His hoodie is open across his chest, his leather harness loose around his shoulder, his face frosted up in a blush and frozen saliva, his chest heaving with breath, and his hips squirming in Pitch’s grip. He shifts and can’t find relief in the confines of his pants, but Pitch doesn’t seem eager to help him out. Pitch seems almost entranced by the sight of Jack beneath him. The things he has caused.  _Because of you_ .

“C’mon, Pitch,” Jack nearly slurs.

“All right, Jack.” Pitch’s voice is deep and rich, heavy with intention and anticipation. He lingers just a moment rubbing in a circle before letting go of Jack completely. He reaches down and lifts Jack by the shoulders into a straddled hug before whisking them both away in the shadows. the stone ground is no place for what is to come.


	2. Vanilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About as kinky as you can get with vanilla!

“Saints, Jack, you are amazing.”

“ _I know_.”

“How have I never known _this_ about you?”

“Too busy trying to kill each other?”

“Perhaps. You are a wonder. I think I will keep you forever, just for this.”

“I’m not a possession Pitch.”

“You are  _mine_ !”

“Shut up. Here.” Jack laughed.

Their voices carried from the most obvious of places. The kitchen.

Pitch was practically cooing over Jack in there. “Mmmmm, Jack.”

“I think you're just being excessive now.” He quipped, but really was still immensely pleased. It was rare to see Pitch so abandoned. It was really something. Could this be counted as another weakness? Maybe.

Oh...Maybe this was why he ruined easter! It was a perfect excuse. The sweet tooth on this guy was phenomenal.

“More, Jack.”

“Ok, ok, pour more into my hands.”

There they sat, on the large slab of obsidian creating the counters of Pitch’s dark kitchen. Jack was cross-legged cupping his hands in front of him waiting for Pitch to tip a large stainless bowl over them.

Pitch looked ridiculous, perched atop his counter mimicking Jack who began to roll the thick liquid between his fingers freezing it and rolling it into a ball floating midair in front of him as Pitch poured.

Jack kneaded the custard in the air, running it through his fingers and forming it into different shapes to keep the smoothness and cooling even. Pitch watched avidly as he set the almost empty bowl back on the counter between them.

It took a few minutes for Jack manipulate the liquid into a solid, cooling it in the right fashion to form the creamiest ice cream known to man.

Pitch obviously couldn’t wait, because a long handled spoon, already licked clean numerous times, was skimming cream from the outside of the lump as it spun in the air before him.

“I think this is better than the last time. Youre getting better.”

“I’m a pro at this, thank you very much.”

“And i’m glad for it, Jack. Here,” Pitch scooped more ice cream from Jack’s ball and held it out for him to eat as his hands were currently preoccupied. Jack grinned and gladly let himself be spoon fed by the King of Fear, finding it hilarious, but keeping a good cap on his laughter.

“Mmm, you're right, it’s much smoother than the first time. I am getting better. What do you want in it this time?”

“Cookie dough.” Was his immediate reply, and he closed his eyes reaching his hand into a swirl of darkness. After a moment of what looked like Pitch rifling through an over-stuffed purse, he withdrew his hand and a sticky glob of raw cookie dough squished between his fingers.

“Ew!” Jack laughed and nearly dropped the ice cream.

“Shut up. So my aim was a little off. I still got it. here.” He shoved his hand at Jack who leaned back, frowning.

“You can’t just shove the whole thing in there. Break it up into pieces and drop it in, geez.”

“Fine.” Pitch huffed then dirtied his other hand picking dough off of his fist full and dropping it into the awaiting swirl of floating ice cream.

“Hey!”

“What!”

“You can’t just eat the dough either! I want some!”

But Pitch just sneered before licking more cookie dough from his fingers instead of putting it in the ice cream. Jack glared back at him in turn then shifted and pulled the ice cream to himself, pulling out a huge scoop to eat selfishly. He grinned slyly as he saw Pitch’s face drop, and mouth fall open.

“That's not fair!”

“Neither is hoarding the cookie dough!”

Pitch glared at him, but Jack glared back, and he swore he was about to be tackled off the counter for a full blown brawl. Pitch hesitated a moment more before rolling dough between his fingers and reaching out to drop it into the ice cream, an indignant sigh on his lips.

Jack held the vanilla cream back out and let Pitch continue to stick dough into it, rolling and kneading it for an even spread. Soon, Pitch scraped what he could from his fingers and sat there licking his hand clean as Jack cooled and froze the dough.

The spoon was back, scooping out globs not a minute later and Jack actually did laugh. “You are worse than children!”

“You tahk dat bahk!” Pitch’s mouth was full!

“Oh my god.”

“ _Take it back_!”

“Ok! Yeesh, fine! Isn’t your goal to be the worst thing on the planet though?”

“Nothing is worse than  _sticky children_ , Jack,” and Pitch’s face was deadly serious.

“Hah. If you say so.”

“Here.” Pitch held the spoon out once again to feed his personal ice-cream machine. Jack opened his mouth expectantly, how he could smile with his mouth wide open was beyond Pitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2nd day in and i've failed the smut challenge. i am *so* sorry.


	3. Hickeys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Challenge Day 7: Hickeys.
> 
> Jack is eager to well...give Pitch some hickeys.

Jack considered himself fairly well versed in bruise-ology. The art of contusions, of blunt trauma, was no mystery to him, even before Pitch and he established their… thing.

Biting was also a pretty well used technique. He didn’t resort to it so much these days, now that he was in more civil company, but his teeth had served him well throughout the years.

He had, however, never paid much attention to the effects of biting and the aftermath of such action. Really, baring his teeth was either an intimidation tactic, or used for ripping to cause as much damage as possible to end the encounter as quickly as he could.

The life-or-death situations Jack found himself in now didn’t call for such drastic measures. Chewing out chunks of flesh really wasn’t in the scheme of things these days. The only blood that was drawn between them occurred from blade slicing, or scrapes…. Maybe some morbid curiosity with fingers prying open a cut… But nothing so brutal as tearing flesh apart with his teeth.

Jack grinned because he fancied Pitch would be horrified to see his mouth dripping with blood. The guy barely held it together when he had to dig out his esophagus that one time, seeing Jack willingly chomp on a limb or throat might send him into hysterics.

Actually…

That’s exactly what Jack thought he should do.

…

Finally, Jack caught himself after a fifty meter fall from the clouds. Pitch had knocked his staff from his hands and while Jack was getting better at flying without it, he still needed it within his sphere of influence to perform most magics.

Having it drop out of the sky was not in his sphere.

He had to tuck in and dive for the stick as Pitch raced him down through the air shooting out sand to knock him off course or slow him down. Jack had little maneuverability while falling like a rock, but he managed to only dislocate a shoulder from a more-solid-than-it-had-any-right-to-be cloud of black sand that sent him spiralling off to the left.

He was able to use the spin to slice through the air and finally found his fingers wrapping around the shaft of his staff.

With a huge gust of wind, Jack swooped back up into the sky and away from Pitch. That was close. The ground was only thirty feet below them. Pitch would have won the whole duel if Jack had crashed.

Spinning back around to face him, Jack saw Pitch was much closer to the earth, he hadn’t stopped as quickly as Jack and he was making to fly back at him, scythe in one hand, roiling cloud of nightmare sand beneath him.

Oh. Perfect opportunity.

With a shout, Jack summoned the wind behind him and rocketed straight at Pitch. Pitch decided to try and counter Jack head on. Wrong move.

Jack barrelled right into Pitch’s stomach not a second later and both of them went sprawling the last few meters into the wheat field. They left a tumbled skid of broken stalked behind them.

Pitch’s hands were at Jack’s shoulders ready to push him off, but Jack was faster. He was usually always faster. His teeth dug into Pitch’s neck and Jack quickly tasted dark viscous blood.

“O-o-oW! Jack!” Pitch shrieked as his hands moved to Jack’s hair and tried to pull him off his neck by it. Jack was not about to give in

“Let go!” Pitch shouted as he struggled to dislodge Jack anyway he knew how.

Jack’s hands came up and pinned Pitch down by his upper arms, and his knees gripped at Pitch’s waist effectively making his legs useless as they couldn’t reach Jack hunched up on his torso. Hot, nearly burning liquid slid along his tongue as he licked and sipped it from the wounds his blunt teeth created.

“Forsaken Moons, you animal! Get off!” And Jack let go with a laugh.

He sat up just a bit, and grinned with reddened teeth, blood dripping down his chin. He didn’t rip a whole chunk out of Pitch’s neck like he planned, but the wound was still deep.

“You are positively feral!” Pitch groaned, thoroughly not impressed.

Jack just laughed again and dove down to make another bite.

“No! Cut it out!”

Jack hummed a sarcastic sound and instead of breaking skin he latched onto the soft flesh on the other side of Pitch’s neck and sucked. He put as much force as he could into the action and rolled the skin between his teeth. Pitch was gasping beneath him, his fingers tightening in his hair and on his shoulder, digging his nails in.

Jack was certain his hair was now reddened as well, claws pulling out strands and gouging at his scalp. He hummed again and Pitch shuddered beneath him. He let go and moved a bit further down, just above his clavicle.

Leaching onto his neck for a third time, Jack found Pitch’s protests distinctly shifted from angered to confused. Jack changed location again and wrapped his teeth lightly across Pitch’s throat and bit at his adam’s apple. The noise that vibrated from Pitch then was quite noticeably pleased. The fingers in Jack’s hair loosened from a death grip to something possessive and encouraging.

Jack had only planned to shock the man and get a good laugh out of it, but with his goal completed and him finding no want to stop, things changed.

He shifted down and kissed at Pitch’s sternum and suckled once again for a few seconds and sat back to see the fruits of his labor. All the spots he had attacked had dark blemishes as Pitch’s blood was drawn to the surface of his skin, as the force of Jack’s teeth and breath broke vessels and created bruises.

Pitch bruised black.

It was mesmerizing. Jack wondered if his body was dead just like his. That if his blood was some weird color inside of him that changed to red as it hit the air. The oozing stuff on the deep wound of his neck seemed to suggest it. It also seemed like Pitch’s blood flowed slower, was more like honey dripping from a comb than gushing water from a freshly thawed stream.

Jack dove down and bit into his chest to find out. Pitch twitched and inhaled sharply at the sudden action, then squirmed as Jack sucked blood from the newest wound. Jack could hear his heart thumping under his ribs, it wasn’t speedy or frantic, it was steady and paced. Pitch had barely had enough time to come down from the adrenaline high of their fight, and the way his fingers pulled at Jack’s hair suggested he was still riding it. So then… maybe.

Jack’s own heart was a rabbit’s thump. Falling had just about sent it out of his chest in anxious frightened glee, and then the tackle was exhilarating.

He licked a striped of red up Pitch’s shoulder, back to his neck and pressed a forceful kiss to the little remaining patch of unmarred skin.

“Why this?” Pitch croaked.

“Just for fun,” Jack replied as he pulled Pitch’s skin between his teeth.

“For fun,” Pitch deadpanned as his gaze focused straight up.

“And to see how you’d react.” Jack let go of his neck and shifted up to look down at Pitch’s face, his smile and chin soaked red.

Pitch’s hand in his hair pulled him down into a kiss. His searing tongue licked the blood from Jack’s lips and then pushed into his mouth, burning just as hot as his blood did, cooling much slower.

Jack threaded his own hands into Pitch’s hair.This was the perfect way to draw even for a fight.


	4. Sadomasochism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 20: Sadomasochism  
> Pitch goes too far.

Everything devolved into fists.

The pair of them were in a jungle of all places, the trees were thick, the morning light that should be peaking over the horizon completely irrelevant under the thick canopy. On Jack’s right a wide swath of trees were felled by precise clean cuts, they leaned against their still upright brethren, dim light actually able to peek through from the destruction.

Plants were ripped up everywhere, things were already starting to turn to mush as the ice on them thawed. Drips of melting icicles blended in with the constant dripping of the forest, the humidity oppressive.

Jack was soaked, his frost sliding from his skin as soon as it formed. His hoodie lay somewhere forgotten as it weighed him down significantly. His staff was discarded, the wood kept slipping from his fingers; he’d take Pitch out the old fashioned way.

Jack darted to the side, dodging a shapeless bludgeon of darkness and skipped away to the clearing.

Pitch was in no better state, though he was still clothed. Cuts and scrapes adorned his skin, his shadowy clothing hanging in half tatters. Pitch wasn’t even bothering to repair it, he was so engrossed in the fight, so exhausted. It was almost morning, they were almost done, a draw would be unacceptable.

Jack heaved for breath as he found a slim shaft of light. His blood ran in rivulets down his arms, mixing with his sweat and ice and the condensation of the air that made him feel like he was swimming. The water that beaded on his skin was like an attack by the very forest, the humidity seemed drawn to him, sticking to his cold skin, never letting up. It stung his eyes, and his hair was practically plastered to his skull.

Pitch was a sweaty mess too, but he had far less obstacles for keeping his shadows intact than Jack did with his ice.

So fists it would be.

Pitch tumbled into the small clearing, growling as he rushed Jack.

Jack swiped Pitch’s fist to the side and sharply jabbed the man in the stomach. He stumbled backwards and sand swirled into Pitch’s palm as a small blade. Pitch lunged back in, and as Jack tried to dodge to the side, he slipped in the mud and fell to one knee, the shadow knife nicking his upper arm.

Jack swore and spun his leg in a low circular kick from the ground, swiping Pitch’s feet out from underneath him. Pitch crashed down into the undergrowth with Jack, and Jack seized the short window to leap onto Pitch’s chest.

His arm shot to his neck and he gripped down hard.

“I win.” Jack puffed out, winded.

“Never!” Pitch croaked back, his long legs twisting him to the side, toppling Jack off of him.

The pair rolled through underbrush, hands trying to get a grip on each other, sliding off, or shoved to the side. Pitch got a shot in at Jack’s eye, cutting open his brow, Jack socked him hard in the jaw, hopefully fracturing it.

A knee came up hard into Jack’s ribs, but he refused to let go, he pulled at Pitch’s hair the man snarling in his face. Jack made a move to end the fight quickly, darting in to bite at Pitch’s neck like an animal, but as his teeth found skin he got too cocky and was instantly thrown off his target.

Jack growled and made to get up, but Pitch was right on top of him and Jack was pinned. He flailed as one of Pitch’s hands pressed into his shoulder, the other gripping his jaw, both of Pitch’s knees hugging into Jack’s hips, his feet curled over his thighs pinning his legs. Jack gripped at his arms, digging his blunt nails in.

“Give up!” Pitch panted, Jack bared his teeth and spit.

Pitch tightened his grip, digging his nails into the joint of Jack’s jaw.

“I’ll make you give up.” Blood seeped around the tips of his nails as he broke the skin near Jack’s ears. All Jack could do was glare and twitch his head to the side, like hell he’d give up! His mouth was held shut, pain dug into the sides of his head, he hissed at Pitch.

Who drug his hand from Jack’s bare shoulder, scraping his claws into his pale skin, turning it red, watching it raise in his wake. Jack hissed again and tensed trying to find any leverage to throw Pitch as the man dug his nails in harder, breaking skin causing blood to seep out. He pulled on Pitch’s arms, trying to pry them off of himself, but Pitch was always stronger, Jack could barely get a grip their skin was both so slippery. The shadows on Pitch’s clothing did nothing to help, it was like they actively removed any friction Pitch had for Jack to grip and his fingers scrabbled over the torn fabric.

Jack bared his teeth and gasped for breath through them as he brought his fingers to try and rip Pitch’s hand from his face. This only prompted him to grip his mouth tighter, and Jack felt his teeth grind together. He shouted through his teeth and scratched at Pitch’s hand, but his blunt nails did nothing.

Pitch just laughed. A dangerous spark lit in his eyes and Jack’s own widened out of his glare. He gasped as he felt a stab of pain in his chest and shifted as much as he could to see Pitch digging a nail into his skin, pushing his claw in. Jack scraped at Pitch’s hand on his face more desperately; another claw broke his skin and pressed in.

He shouted again, and writhed under Pitch’s weight, trying to lift his knees, hips, anything to get some momentum. A third sharp nail dug in. The pain wasn’t overmuch, nothing he hadn’t had worse of, but the manner he received it was completely different. Pitch was above him, his breath puffing in and out in great gusts, his eyes fixated on the damage he was doing, his teeth bared. He looked transfixed, he didn’t look present at all.

Jack finally got a grip on the hand and used both of his to pry Pitch away from his jaw, feeling his skin rip as the claws were forced out. Immediately Jack gasped in great lungfuls of air, his mouth wide open, he glared again, angry.

“Pitch-!” Jack shouted, but the hand he had in both of his pushed down with all of Pitch’s strength and body weight and found new purchase on Jack’s neck. He choked, Pitch’s long fingers curling around his throat.

Jack bucked underneath him, his anger and adrenaline from the fight quickly melting away to desperation. Pitch curled his fingers in Jack’s flesh with both hands, breaking the skin on his neck and pulling at the muscle in his grip on Jack’s chest. He felt the claws in his skin shift and cried out with the little air he could suck in behind that restricting hand.

This was wrong, Jack thought hysterically as he could feel the strength in his own hands start to waver. This pain was all wrong. It didn’t feel anything like good or worthy. He didn’t feel alive for it, this wasn’t making a good memory. Where did it go wrong? They were having fun before! It was so much fun! They tumbled through the brush and it was exhilarating!

Pitch pulled at his skin, ripping open the punctures he made, Jack shouted and a tremble started in his shoulders, down his neck. He didn’t like this. This needed to stop – Pitch needed to stop! Why was he doing this? Why did he change? He’d never been this way before, not even in the beginning – this felt like torture. Torture.

Jack’s stomach twisted, he felt nauseous, He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The heat was oppressive and water condensed all over him, he felt his body chill in a sudden surge of panic. His face didn’t feel hot, it felt pressured as his circulation was cut off. His fingers failed him and his breath failed him, but his fear surged forth as he was held down.

Things were turning fuzzy around the edges, but Jack saw the expression on Pitch’s face shift, his pupils dilate. He could see as Pitch’s mouth fell open, stunned, and he looked down finally seeing Jack, seeing his hands red with blood, his fingers deep into Jack’s flesh.

Air surged back into his lungs as Pitch recoiled and fell off of Jack as if he were punched in the face. Jack’s chest heaved, his hand coming to his neck holding it, a palm going over his chest pressing at the seeping wounds there. He twisted to the side, rolling onto his shoulder as coughs interrupted the air he so desperately was gasping back into himself. He felt his heart kickstart into a rabbit thump, knew his blood flowed more easily from his many wounds. His head spun, high from the lack of air and more so from the resurgence of it.

Pitch might’ve said something, but Jack couldn’t hear over the pounding in his head, a headache coming on fast. A moment later, a warmth touched at his shoulder blade. Fingertips. He flinched away with an aborted cry, his knees coming up to his chest protectively.

He was so warm, the air was too warm, he couldn’t freeze anything, nothing was cold he wanted cold, where was his staff? This was too much, he felt disoriented, things only just slowed their spinning.

What happened.

What had gone wrong.

Jack’s mind spun as he remembered in the wake of breathing properly again. He lost, he lost the duel. Pitch won, had beat him. It wasn’t fair, Pitch played dirty, he lost because they weren’t fighting anymore, he wasn’t fighting – couldn’t fight. He couldn’t fight back, Jack couldn’t defend himself, he was at the mercy of violence and had no way out, torture. He was tortured.

His stomach rolled in on itself, and Jack was retching through coughs. He twisted to his elbows and knees and vomited nothing but water into the mud, not even able to fathom why it wasn’t frozen, why he wasn’t frozen – because Pitch had hurt him.

“-ck?” Pitch’s voice was quiet, barely discernable from the cacophony of forest sounds hammering at Jack’s ears.

A heat hotter than the dense air got close to Jack, Pitch was going to try and touch him again. Jack whipped an arm out blindly from his huddle on the ground with a shout “-Back! Get back!” He croaked, feeling a tremble start in his spine again.

“Jack.”

“ _Don’t_! Don’t you touch me, Pitch, I swear to god!” Jack yelled with his head bowed into his forearms, his forehead in the mud.

“Your…Fear, Jack. Your fear – I…,“ Pitch spoke from a short distance Jack couldn’t see.

“Shut up. Shut-“ Jack coughed again, feeling close to throwing up once more, but there was nothing in him to expel.

“Are you ok?”

“No! No I’m _not Okay_! I’m Not-“ Jack shouted again, his fingers clawing into his scalp, pulling on his dirtied wet hair. “My staff, where is my _staff_?”

“Over, over there.” Pitch’s voice sounded timid, Jack would be amazed if he were calm.

“Bring me, give me. Get my staff! I need my staff – If you’ve broken it I won’t forgive you! I won’t, I won’t do it! How dare you, how _dare you_!” Jack moaned as he huddled back down small. He babbled uselessly, Pitch said something and Jack heard the scramble of him getting up and running off to wherever. It was getting light out now, the sounds of the animals in the jungle, the sound of rain, dripping, creaking wood, flapping of wings, a buzz of insects discerned themselves to him. It became less of a white noise and Jack could pick out recognizable things, he concentrated on them, on his breathing, on calming down. Breathe, in and out, in and out.

Pitch wasn’t near, he was taking a while, and Jack cleared his mind in his absence, coming back to reality, feeling himself already begin to heal in the heat, missing his cold. That had happened. What just happened had happened. Pitch had, Pitch had tortured him, the thought made him queasy again, he forced it down. He didn’t give up the fight but he was pinned, he should have given up – Pitch wouldn’t have done what he did if he had just given up – no. No. Pitch was wrong, he had no right. That pain wasn’t fun, he crossed the line.

Jack had been vulnerable to him, in front of him, plenty of times before. It never lead to that. Why did Pitch do that?

A coldness touched on the back of Jack’s upturned foot. He still flinched.

It disappeared and Jack whipped his head up, immediately missing the comforting chill. There was Pitch, a few feet from Jack’s side holding his staff out in one hand.

Shuddering a breath, Jack pushed himself upright, sitting on his knees and held his hand out for his staff. Pitch handed it over earnestly like he couldn’t wait to get rid of it. Jack’s brow scrunched in confusion, but the delightful chill snaking up his arms had him forgetting everything for a moment and he hugged the staff to his bared chest, pressing his cheek to the wood, getting as much contact with it.

He was exhausted from the fight, his energy low, but not depleted. He felt weak, but realized it was more due to the ordeal he just went through than from actually being fragile. His frost curled over his skin, freezing the mud, water, and blood as it went. His eyes closed and he couldn’t help the whimper on his lips as the wounds Pitch inflicted with purpose froze over and under.

“Never again.” Jack mumbled.

“What?” Pitch sounded almost devastated.

Jack opened his eyes and stared hard at Pitch. “Do you even get what you just did?”

“I-“ Pitch was sitting facing Jack, his legs curled under himself indian style, his hands which were clean of blood now, on each knee. His expression was open, worried, upset.

“That was torture, Pitch.” Jack ground out. “It was torture. You _hurt_ me. Why that.”

“I…Jack…” Pitch looked down at his lap, back up at Jack, then off to the side. “You weren’t afraid. I had you and you weren’t afraid. I had won but you weren’t defeated! How – I was just winning, Jack. Jack it wasn’t – I was just…”

“Pitch,” Jack cut him off.

“But then you were scared. So _scared_. You were so scared and there was no in-between. Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I _couldn’t_!” Jack was on his knees, staff in two tight bloody grips.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t –“

“Never. Again.”

“No! Please, Jack,” Pitch leaned forward, one hand in the mud.

“Wha-“ Jack jumped back at Pitch’s forward movement, stepping lightly to his feet, the warm air assisting his retreat. “No! I refuse! I won’t let you just _torture_ me.”

Pitch climbed to his feet his arms out wide, imploring. “Anything! I’ll do anything; just don’t say this is the last time we fight. I’ll do better next time, I won’t let this happen again, I’ll try harder, I’m _sorry_.”

Jack frowned a bit confused, he hugged his staff close for comfort. “I…Do you get that what you did was not cool? You won yet you kept going, I couldn’t fight back but you didn’t stop. We’re not enemies anymore I won’t face you to be treated like that.”

Pitch wrung his hands together, Jack could tell he was very upset, he had a hard time feeling guilty about it.

“…but, I wasn’t implying I want to stop dueling forever because of that.” Jack added in a small voice.

“Ah.” Pitch straightened up, his expression lifting just a bit. “I, yes. I understand. I – I’ll not do it again. I’ll try. You were so scared. Panicked. It _scared me_.” Pitch admitted, looking down to the side.

“You, scared?” Jack asked, leaning on his staff a bit, a small smile finally finding its way back to his lips.

“Terrified.”

“Of me?”

“….for you.” Pitch mumbled, rubbing his fingers across his knuckles. “You’re…you’ve never…I’ve only seen you that scared a handful of times. In your nightmares…”

“Then you get it.”

“I, uh…yes.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“Most assuredly not…”

“Take me somewhere cold.”

“Wha-?” Pitch looked up to Jack finally, finally meeting his eyes.

“Somewhere cold with fresh water, like the Alps, Himalayas, or the Tian Shans, The Rockies, I don’t care. I want to take a cold bath and I don’t feel like flying.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Uh, yeah. Wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

“Then come here.”

Jack approached, and let Pitch wrap an arm around his shoulders. He was pleased that Pitch didn’t comment on the flinch he couldn’t help.


End file.
